


Regency

by gemstoney



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Battle, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Eventual Romance, F/M, Imprisonment, Kingdoms, Kings & Queens, Monarchy, Mystery, Post-War, Princes & Princesses, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ron Weasley Dies, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:47:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28521888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemstoney/pseuds/gemstoney
Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts was lost, and The Order has been doing everything in its power to stop the spread of Voldemort's reign. One evening, Hermione Granger is kidnapped from a secret base, only to wake up in a regal bedroom. She soon discovers that she has been betrothed to Draco Malfoy, King of France.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 31
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

Waking up wrapped in silk sheets was not a luxury Hermione had ever had, not even in her Muggle home before the war.

The feeling of the unfamiliar bedding caused for a panic before she was even able to open her eyes. Something of this quality was never in the barracks of the bases. It could only mean that she wasn't there.

A final swipe of her hand along the mattress confirmed her fears as the rough wool and cotton was nowhere to be found.

Her heart rate increased with her panic.

She was wide awake now.

Keeping her eyes closed, she worked to keep her breathing at a slow pace, mimicking her sleeping form as she listened for the sign of others in the room. Moments of sharp silence gave her enough permission to slowly crack open her eyes.

The room was dark, but the slip of light through the maroon velvet curtains was enough to allow for a slow sweep of the room. Besides herself, it was otherwise unoccupied, bringing a moment of relief.

Hermione slowly reach to her left upper-arm for her holstered wand, only to find both items missing. It wasn't the first time she had been in a compromising situation without her wand, but that didn't mean it made her confident in her survival. Especially without Harry. 

Where was he? Harry wouldn't leave her. Ron might've, but Harry would never. He promised.

The temporary relief continued as Hermione realized that she was not in a prison cell, nor was she being mercilessly crucioed by a Death Eater. If the silk sheets hadn't been a giveaway, then the four-poster bed, sitting area, and multiple doors to the room were proof enough that she was at least being kept in a very wealthy home.

She was still unsettled.

The power of wards in the building was palpable, but without her wand, it would be impossible to know where they were and their purpose.

The combination of being weaponless and alone was enough to cause panic, but the wards meant magic walls. Either someone was being kept in or someone was being kept out. 

While she desperately wanted to feed her curiosity, Hermione knew that she needed to ensure her safety before worrying about how and why she was removed from the base.

A quick glance at her body and the running of her hands showed her to be dressed in some sort of cotton pajama set. Hermione didn't want to think too much about the wardrobe change. The idea of someone changing the clothes on her unconscious body made her sick. The shorts and shirt would at the very least allow her to be mobile, but the short sleeves and lack of shoes or socks caused some anxiety for the gamble the she would find herself in an undesirable terrain if an escape was needed.

Using her palms to lift herself up, a sharp pain ripped through her skull. She immediately collapsed back as her body convulsed and nausea overtook her senses. An agonizing moan slipped as the pounding continued. It slowly dulled with her stillness.

Her fingers twitched as she laid in the darkness. The slight throbbing in her head now echoed throughout her body. She could feel the pulse in her toes. She must've been crucioed. It had only happened to her twice, years ago, but it was memorable enough for her to remember the side effects.

Hermione knew that the pulsing would continue for hours. Her only options were to let the effects run their course as she nursed them in bed, sitting patiently for whoever had taken her on as a responsibility to come and find her, or to creep her way through the room and out into the hall with the hopes that her headache wouldn't cripple her into unconsciousness or that the twitches won't have her spasm to knock something over, drawing loud, obvious attention to her secretive information gathering/potential escape plan.

Weighing the options bought enough time for the aching to pause. She decided that either way, she was alone and weaponless, and, either way, there was a high probability she wasn't going to make it out of this plush manor.

Sitting up again, a stab went through her skull. With a soft grunt, she decided that it was more manageable than the last. She gritted her teeth and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

She pressed her palms into her forehead as if pushing the headache away from the front of her skull. The aches, though dimmer then the initial stab, were enough to make her second guess her decisions.

She didn't. She needed to find Harry.

It was better to not be a sitting duck.

With a small sigh, Hermione removed her hands from her head and pushed her small frame off of the mattress. She landed her bare feet as quietly as she could onto the dark hardwood. Her knees gave a slight wobble as she nauseously tried to stand upright, holding onto the bed for stability.

A crack immediately broke the silence of the room.

Hermione's heart dropped.

The floor was warded. She had been caught.

"Miss is to stay in bed," a small voice squeaked behind her. "Please sit down."

Hermione tensed, but slowly pushed herself back onto the mattress. Her body trembled as she sat, keeping her gaze focused on the floor. Soft, quick padding filled the room as a small elf walked in front of her.

She couldn't help but stare at the creature. It felt like an eternity since she'd seen one, and she truthfully never thought she would see one again. The short frame, the big eyes, the bat-like ears - it felt so familiar.

She wasn't surprised that they still existed. Of course Voldemort and the purebloods would want to keep their house elf slaves. A house elf hadn't made it to The Order since Dobby. They couldn't escape their Masters, and those who contemplated how were immediately executed. Their forced loyalty was one of the first Voldemort supporters' assurances.

They were a necessity to luxury.

The fact that one was standing in front of her only meant that her previous moments of relief were completely falsified. She was nowhere safe for any member of The Order, let alone the Golden Girl.

Hermione's tongue felt dry as she continued to stare at the creature in front of her. The resemblance to Dobby made both her heart and stomach lurch. If he knew that his kind was still enslaved, that his sacrifice meant nothing, he would be devastated.

Hermione was devastated. While her work with S.P.E.W. felt like an eternity ago, she couldn't help but to feel like a failure. Just like everything else, she blamed it on the war.

As the urge to vomit grew, she fell back onto the bed.

The elf gasped and climbed on the bed. Its eyes bore into her with concern as it placed its hand against her forehead. "Is Miss alright? Does Miss need anything?"

Hermione didn't trust her voice, but she did trust house elves.

"Where am I?" A fire ripped through her throat as she forced the words out. She took in a ragged breath as the elf placed another hand on her chest, over her heart.

"Zippy is not to tell Miss. Zippy is to make Miss comfortable. Is Miss needing anything?" Hermione creased her eyebrows in frustration and opened her mouth but paused with the lingering tingle in her throat. She closed her mouth and attempted to swallow the little saliva she had to soothe the pain. She needed to soothe all of her pain to be mobile. Mobile enough.

The elf was under strict orders. It wasn't going to help her. She needed to choose her requests wisely. Too many words would make her ill, and she would lose an opportunity.

"Water. Potions. Please." She grunted, eyes squeezed closed as the burning strengthened. She heard a snap and, eventually, another. Time became confused as Hermione focused on the sensations in her body.

There was movement on the bed. Hermione felt the cold small hands lift her head into the tiny lap. A glass was pushed to her lips. The water was cold. She felt a large ice cube knock against her teeth, and she sighed at yet another luxury. 

If she were going to die soon, at least she got to experienced some things as simply lavish as clean pajamas and ice water one last time. She allowed herself to push away the guilt with the excuse of needing the assistance to hopefully return to the cause. Greedily, she drank the glass, sighing as the cool liquid numbed the agony in her throat.

The half-empty glass was pulled away as a small bottle was pushed against her mouth. There was no hesitation to think it was anything but helpful. What would be the point of keeping her alive this long just to wipe her out with a potion? She shot it down quickly, thankful that the potion's consistency was as thin as water. So little was forced upon her that the taste was barely noticeable.

Another quickly followed suit, the slight tang of dittany reminding her of the smell of a medical barrack. A slight comfort came with the knowledge that she was receiving some medical care. She would hopefully feel better soon.

The glass of water returned to her mouth, and Hermione drank until it was empty.

Hermione wasn't sure if it was the potions themselves or just the providing of them that brought a calmness to her as she was nursed on the bed. The elf's lap felt incredibly comfortable. The down of the comforter felt much more plush. Warmness surrounded her.

"Where am I?" she drawled. The burn in her throat was little more than a scratch. She opened her eyes to look up at the elf, but only briefly met its large, worried eyes before having her own roll back into her head.

"Zippy cannot say. Zippy will prepare Miss when Miss awakes from draught. Sleep." The small hand slowly stroked her hair as she fought to open her eyes.

"Please," Hermione begged with a slur, gripping the elves hand with her own against her cheek.

"His Majesty will answer questions after Zippy presents Miss."

Her body disobeyed her as a protest grew in her throat, succumbing to the potion.

They had her.

'His Majesty' could only mean one thing.

She had been kidnapped by the Death Eaters.


	2. Chapter 2

The feeling of the silk sheets was much more familiar the second time Hermione awoke, though being awake brought a sense of panic.

The potions had appeared to aid the healing process as her movements didn't bring any side effects other than the occasional trembling of her fingers. That too would pass with time.

Hours had obviously passed as light no longer shone through the curtains. Instead, the small amount came from a lamp in the corner next to her.

Hermione cautiously sat up, testing the extent of the remedies. Satisfied, she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on top. She glanced around the room only to find that it was just us uninteresting and unhelpful as it had been hours before. 

While she was someone who always appreciated the power of knowledge, especially from a book, there was little it would do weapon wise. There was nothing else at her dispense other than the filled shelves to her right.

With the wards on the floor, she would have to stay in the bed to allow for conscious alone time.

Hermione needed a plan.

She was in a Death Eater's house. Even worse, she was being treated well. She felt like a pig being prepared for slaughter.

Try as she might, she couldn't recall her kidnapping. After supper, she sat under a tree with Harry. The conversation was emotional, but any time they had alone together, as of late, usually was. When she finally dragged herself to bed, that was it. She fell asleep in the small stiff bunk across from Parvati Patil, only to excruciatingly wake up in this room.

It would be impossible for her to leave the bed without drawing attention to herself.

She really only had one option: use the house elf to find out as much information as possible, avoid the Death Eater, and get out as quickly and safely as possible.

Gingerly, she stepped out of the bed.

"How is Miss feeling?" Zippy asked after cracking into the room, right in front of Hermione.

"Much better, thank you." Hermione gave a tight smile to the small creature as it grinned and clapped its hands. It was better dressed than other house elves she had met. Wearing a buttoned shirt and pants, it appeared to be treated well.

Zippy giggled before cracking out and back into the room.

"Just in time for supper, Miss! Zippy must get you prepared. His Majesty will be most happy!" The elf grabbed her hand and gave it a slight tug.

Hermione froze. She didn't want to see the Death Eater, but she needed to spend time with the elf. 

The painful growl of her stomach didn't make her opposed to food. If she had learned anything in the war, it was to never turn down a meal. Like the potions, if they wanted to kill her, they would have done so already. Poison seemed pointless.

She pulled her hand out of the elf's grasp.

"Zippy, I'm still rather tired. Could I have supper in my room?" The elf immediately frowned, lowering its ears in disappointment. 

"Miss not feeling better? Zippy to make Miss feel better before bringing to His Majesty."

Hermione almost felt bad as she watched the elf struggle with itself. This was war. Hermione was more than willing to keep her life in exchange for the punishment of her captor's house elf. 

Still, nothing about the war was the elf's fault. Hermione dramatically pressed her hand into her head to feign an ache.

"Maybe you could help me to the bathroom, feed me some supper, and help me to bed. I'm sure I'll be feeling much better in the morning."

This must have been enough to satisfy the orders. With a smile, Zippy again grabbed her hand and lead her to the door on the right side of the far wall.

It was a large bathroom.

Steering her towards a small toilet room, the elf shut the door behind her. The sound of running water lead Hermione to assume that the elf was filling the tub they had passed.

The room, if you could even call it that, was only large enough for one to do their business. However, a small, non-curtained window stood above the toilet at the top of the wall.

If she climbed, she could look outside. Even if she couldn't identify where she was, she would at least be able to start to form an escape plan.

As quietly as possible, Hermione climbed up on the seat. With both hands pulling her chin above the ledge and her toes as pointed as can be, her glance into the outside diminished her hope.

It was far too dark to see anything other than the lights along the large, stone wall that had to wrap around the property. It was too dim for any guards to be noticeable, and the small stretch that she could see didn't have any entryways.

Without a wand or an exit through or over the wall, Hermione was stuck.

A small knock came on the door.

"Miss finished? Ready for her bath?"

"Just a minute..."

With one last glance at the perimeter, Hermione gracefully removed herself from the wall and walked back out into the bathroom. She glanced at the tub then back to the elf that stood in front of the door.

"Zippy sorry. Must stay while Miss bathes," the elf blushed.

Watch her bathe? Were they afraid she was going to try to drown herself? 

Though being in the Death Eater's custody did make that seem like a favorable choice, Hermione knew that she couldn't. As the Golden Girl, she was the poster child for The Order's cause. Killing herself would be giving up. It would be abandoning everyone. They needed her.

Hermione pursed her lips but undressed anyways.

Slipping into the tub, she couldn't help but moan. She hadn't been able to soak in water this warm for at least a year.

The salts and soaps used to make the bubbles tickled her nose as rose and vanilla wafted around her.

Guilt crept upon her once again. She shouldn't feel guilty for being kidnapped.

Comfortably covered in bubbles, she turned back to the elf.

"Zippy, where am I? Can't you at least tell me what country?" She was met with only silence.

"The Death Eaters have me? Can you tell me which one?" Again, there was nothing.

"Why am I not in a prison cell? Dare I say, I'm being treated well."

The elf adverted its gaze to the floor. "Zippy will get in much trouble if answers any questions. Please do not be mad at Zippy."

She clicked her tongue, but accepted the response.

So far, the plan was a failure. It seemed like every plan of Hermione's was a failure at this point.

She stayed in the tub for a long time. Her muscles, though no longer in pain from the crucio, were grateful for the relaxation. 

She was grateful for the conditioner. While there was typically soap in the bases, conditioner was rare. A trip to a Muggle store was usually needed, so taming her curls was often left to charms.

Going down the line of soaps and products at the edge of the tub, Hermione's hand hesitated over the razor.

Her briefly relaxed muscles were once again tense. They expected her to be completely groomed?

She pushed the worrisome thoughts from her mind and focused on the task at hand, though she wasn't sure if her shaking hands were from the side effects, the uncertainty of her future, or the uncomfortableness of the elf's watchful eyes.

Leaving the tub, she wrapped herself in a plush robe and walked back into the room, Zippy hot on her trail.

A small tray sat on her bed. Another house elf must have dropped it off. On it was a glass of water, a bowl of broth, and a large piece of bread.

The lack of food in her system caused for Hermione to battle to fill her stomach while also not making herself sick. 

She couldn't help but to think that Ron would have probably eaten the broth with more grace than she ravished it. Her emotions almost churned it back out. She paused with her eyes closed until the thought had escaped her.

The familiarity of a burned tongue was nice.

When Zippy returned to the bathroom to tidy, Hermione had long finished the broth, slowly picking at the loaf. Alone, she slipped her soup spoon up her robe sleeve. It was the only silverware she got, as well as her only weapon option. Zippy paid too close attention to her movements during her bath for the razor to be an option. 

"Is Miss needing anything else?" Zippy asked after snapping away the empty tray, not noticing the missing utensil.

"Answers," she shrugged.

"Miss will be seeing His Majesty in the morning."

"I don't want to see him. I want to leave. To go home." Hermione knew snapping at the elf would get her nowhere. After all, she didn't have a home to go back to. She had Harry, and that was close enough. She needed to know he was okay. They needed him to win the war.

"Miss cannot leave."

"Am I a prisoner?" she asked, She couldn't help the raise in her voice.

The elf looked upset. "No -"

"Then why can't I leave?" Hermione interrupted.

"Well, Miss. Zippy cannot -"

The banter was cutoff as the large door on the left wall had its nob creakily turn. 

Both heads snapped toward the door.

Hermione clutched the bedding she was sitting on, keeping a finger against the spoon she had slipped into her sleeve. 

The door swung open, and after two large strides, Hermione gasped.

"Hello, Granger."


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione's blood ran cold.

It had been years since Hermione had last seen Draco Malfoy, but that didn't mean she was unaware of what he had been up to.

His family had once again found themselves in the Dark Lord's good graces. Their rankings were high within his empire.

The last she'd heard, Voldemort had gifted Draco France as a thanks for securing the rest of the European peninsula.

Hermione had been there when Portugal had fallen. Harry had grabbed her with a portkey just in time. She hadn't seen the others who were on the mission with them since. Neville, Hannah, George, Cho, had all disappeared. That's what Harry said. Hermione assumed they had been killed. That was 8 months ago.

She stared at him in disbelief, not returning the greeting.

He was older- more filled out. His hair, the same icy blonde. His eyes, the same silver grey. He looked as put together as he always did - save sixth year.

While everything about him, his posture, his expression, screamed stoic and deadly, there was a slight softness to his eyes. He looked curious. He looked concerned.

Hermione was terrified. Now that she knew where she was, she knew he wouldn't kill her. She was the last of Harry's inner circle. They needed her to draw him out. She knew Malfoy would want to draw out Harry. He would want to be the one to initiate his enemy's demise.

That didn't mean he couldn't torture her, and from what she had heard, the Malfoy army had notorious techniques.

He continued to look at her expectantly, but she refused to budge. His eyes seemed to twinkle. Gryffindor stubbornness.

She looked down his figure. Malfoy was admittedly fit. Calling him ferret-like was much more on Harry and Ron's insult list. He had always been one of the more attractive boys at Hogwarts - probably the most attractive in their year. At least, that's the opinion she use to overhear in the girls lavatory. Too bad most of them were dead. They would be impressed.

His suit seemed expensive, but Hermione couldn't tell if it was Muggle or not. He wasn't wearing robes, so she couldn't be sure. Whatever it was, it was doing a wonderful job at hiding his wand. It wasn't in his hand and a holster couldn't be seen. She almost hoped he wasn't stupid enough to come near her without one, but then again, he deserved whatever was coming to him.

After a moment, he smirked to himself, shoving his hands into the pockets of his suit pants and looking at the floor. He sighed.

Did he think she was checking him out? She definitely wasn't. Hermione was just sizing up her soon to be opponent.

He took another step forward. His legs were long enough that he nearly reached her in the bed, even with the large size of her regal bedroom.

He looked at her with impatience. "I said 'Hello', Mudblood." Hermione glared at the man, but made no movement. She felt a retort building in response to the slur but bit her tongue. Her fingers still brushed the handle of the spoon.

Realizing he was not getting a response, he turned toward the elf. "How is she, Zippy?"

The elf's ears drops as tears welled its eyes.

"Zippy is sorry, Your Majesty. Miss is doing much better. Took a bath and had soup. Said she still felt unwell. Zippy was going to bring her to breakfast!" the elf wailed.

Malfoy looked annoyed but nodded nonetheless. "Thank you, Zippy. You're excused til the morning. I'm sorry for my impatience, but I heard talks in the kitchen. I wanted to see for myself."

Hermione couldn't help but have her jaw drop. Not only was Malfoy apologizing, but apologizing to a house elf. If only Dobby were here.

Zippy gave a bow before snapping out of the room.

With the elf gone, he returned his attention back to her.

The two stared at each other in silence, Malfoy standing at the side of the bed with Hermione huddled in her robe under the covers. Had the severity of the situation not been so high, Hermione would have been embarrassed that she was nearly naked in front of her school rival.

"We couldn't get you to shut up in school. Why the sudden silence?" he mused, smirk returning to his lips as he removed a hand from one of his pockets and drummed the edge of the mattress.

"Why am I here, Malfoy?" she seethed, glancing down to monitor the movements of his hand before returning her glare to his steely eyes.

He walked along the edge of the bed, dragging his fingers along the mattress as he went. He stopped next to her, filling the space where Zippy had been just moments before.

"I'm the King of France, you know," he boasted, ignoring her question. His fingers were drumming near her ankle.

"I'm aware of what you've been up to," she sneered. Hermione shifted further to the center of the bed. The greater the distance between the two, the safer she felt.

His smile widened at her uneasiness. 

"Then this should be easy," he hummed, "I need a queen."

Hermione froze.

"Excuse me?"

Hermione's fury was far greater than it was when she had slapped him in third year. Without her wand, Hermione could feel her magic pulsing but had no way of harnessing it. She had failed terribly at learning wandless magic and was regretting it terribly. Her ears felt hot as it continued to concentrate. 

He continued, fingers rhythmically drumming.

"Some would say I'm the heir to the Dark Lord's throne, that is, if he ever planned on dying," Malfoy chuckled to himself before draining all amusement from his expression. "I've become quite the trusted Death Eater. He promised me a prize for securing Italy. I chose you."

His stare on her was firm, and after analyzing him to ensure he wasn't joking, she let out an appalled laugh.

"You've gone mad."

Something snapped.

Draco's eyes grew wild at the statement. He lunged across the bed, grabbing her chin and pulling her face just inches from his own. Hermione let him.

"You will learn your place."

His hot breath hit her lips with every word. Hermione slid the spoon down her sleeve, wrapping her hands around the handle in a firm grip.

She smiled softly at him, "My place is not here."

With his hands occupied at her head, Hermione took the opportunity to swing the spoon to his face, hoping to get a good gauge on his eye.

Malfoy's reflexes were fast. Of course they were. He had casted an incarcerous on her before she was able to pull back for a second swing. Hermione's scream muffled as one of the bindings covered her mouth.

Failure.

"Fucking Mudblood," he cursed, holding his eye. With a wave of his wand, the bindings tightened. The spoon clanged to the floor as her fingers became too numb to grasp it.

"Gratitude, Granger. I'll beat it into you if I have to." He waved his wand again, taking all of the light with him. "We'll continue this in the morning, Your Majesty," he seethed. The door slammed behind him, leaving her in pitch blackness.

Hermione had never been fond of being locked up. Their appearance in Malfoy Manner before the Battle had certainly etched that into her brain.

She wasn't alone then, at least not really. The boys had managed to get her out before her isolated time with Bellatrix created too much damage to fix or hide. But now, she was entirely alone. Even if she rolled onto the floor wards, Zippy had been ordered to leave her for the night.

Hermione tried to sob around the gag, but any movement of her jaw just forced the wrappings to tighten. 

Thank Merlin he bound her on the bed. The plush support was the only thing keeping her grounded. She knew where she was, she knew who had her, and she knew that she would be kept alive. All she needed to do was find a way to contact a member of The Order. She was okay. Everything would be okay.

Hermione laid in the dark, counting her breaths as tears streamed down her face.

He wouldn't get what he wants. He wouldn't break her.

She wouldn't let him.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Hermione noticed when she was awoken by Zippy was that the incarcerous was gone.

Her jaw hurt, no doubt from the binding that spent most of the night choking her. The moment she could find a wand, Malfoy wouldn't know what was coming for him.

"Miss is to put this on," Zippy announced, gesturing to the gown draped atop the sofa. It was floor length, long sleeved, and a hideous Slytherin green.

"Absolutely not," she responded in disgust, holding the dress at arms length.

The elf frowned, "Miss has to get dressed for breakfast."

Making the elf upset conflicted Hermione. She wanted to defy Malfoy, not make the elf's already terrible life hell.

Hermione huffed, turning away from the lounge and towards the two unidentified doors.

She found the first, on the left, was locked. There appeared to be no key hole, so it wouldn't be picked anytime soon.

On the opposite side, the second, opened up into a large walk in closet. It was stocked full. Gorgeous gowns and robes filled the racks. Shoes and handbags stacked the shelves. Hermione opened the drawers to one of the wardrobes and immediately felt queasy. It was full of lingerie. This confirmed her previous statement: Malfoy had gone mad.

With further exploring, she was happy to see that there was a fair share of Muggle clothing in the closet. Oddly, everything was in her size. Though her hands hesitated over the soft sweatshirts, she thought of Zippy.

Hermione opted for a a nice cream blouse and stretchy black pants.

Zippy gave her an uncertain look, but nodded at the choice, gesturing towards the bathroom. Hermione walked in and sat at the vanity. The elf followed her in, holding a pair of black flats and jewelry. Hermione bundled her hair as the elf clipped on the necklace. Hermione gasped as she felt the magic in it burst to life.

"Zippy is sorry Miss, but His Majesty insisted." the elf explained, moving to attach a pair of matching earrings.

"What does it do?" Hermione asked, touching the pearl charm as it sat just below her neck.

"Zippy does not know. Sorry, Miss." Hermione frowned at the obvious lie. He must have ordered not to say anything.

She sat quietly as she watched the elf use its magic.

She was always fascinated by the creatures, but watching it perform beautification charms without a wand was much more interesting than the trivial traveling and chores she had witnessed. Whatever was being done to her hair was much more efficient than Sleekeazy's.

With light make-up on and her curls tamed into a loose braid, Hermione followed Zippy out of the room into a long hallway. Windows lined the wall opposite the door revealing a large courtyard. Intricate gardens filled the space with a large water feature in the middle.

Everywhere else was covered in art, and from what Hermione could tell, it was almost entirely Muggle. The white walls and gold trim followed them through to a large dining-room. It was nearly the size of the Great Hall, centered around an elegantly decorated table that could easily sit a house.

Malfoy sat at the end, a massive wizard painting behind him. He gave a sly smile as he stood upon her entry. The members of the portrait began to whisper among themselves. As she and Zippy approached, he pulled out the chair to his right for her.

Hermione sat with a nod, but stayed silent as she didn't move to touch her plate.

Malfoy slowly began his meal. She could feel him looking at her, burning holes into her head, but refused to bring her eyes to his. He didn't deserve her as a companion.

"I see that you didn't like my choice of wardrobe," he tested.

She snorted. "Like I said yesterday, you've gone mad."

Malfoy dropped his fork onto his plate with a sudden clang. She tensed at the noise. "It's a bit early in the day to start work on manners, don't you think Granger?"

She blinked at him.

"I will make this very clear for you. You do not get choices. You can play your silly little games of ignoring me, of defying me, but I promise you that the Dark Lord will tear you to pieces. By his enthusiasm for this little project I have with you, I can assure you that it will be sooner rather than later."

He closed his eyes at the pause, taking a deep breathe through his nose. He lowered his voice. "If you piss him off Granger, he will take it out on both of us. Now, I think I've done a pretty decent job of treating you well in hopes that you'll behave, but I can make things much more ruthless for you if you'd rather. But, if you behave, maybe I'll give you some privileges."

Hermione wasn't sure if what she considered privileges were anywhere near as similar to what he considered privileges, but it was better than nothing.

Draco took a sip from his tea as he opened the newspaper. Hermione took this as a cue to serve herself. Mixing in her cream and honey, she peered at the page between them.

'Eastern Europe is in Shambles! Russia Soon to Follow?'

She snorted to herself as she grabbed some fruit and a blueberry scone. As if the Drumstrag men would let them step a foot into the country.

Hermione couldn't help but moan as she bit into her food. She use to have quite the sweet-tooth. That, too, had been forgotten during the war.

Forgotten until now. The only fruit she'd had for a long time were the crabapples that were scavenged with potions ingredients. They were small and sad, and, more often than not, incredibly bitter. While they were able to get their hands on basics like flour, sugar, and milk, they hadn't wasted it on delicacies like scones.

Malfoy's eyes flickered to her before disinterestedly returning to the paper. 

"We have a press release with The Prophet. They'll be here this afternoon. Photos, interview, the whole deal. You will behave. One step out of line and I'll ensure that you don't see the light of day for a week. Am I understood?"

Hermione paused her bite.

An announcement in The Prophet.

She was both relieved and mortified.

The Order would know where she was. They would know who had her. They would also think that she had agreed to marry Malfoy, the top monster in Voldemort's rankings.

This would be terrible for her image. The public would have to know that it was fake, right? The Golden Girl would never fall for a Death Eater. It would be a rally for His forces if they thought they had converted Harry's top supporter. It would be a major weakness and low blow for The Order.

Harry.

Harry would know this was fake. She was just with him. She hoped he was alive. She hoped he would save her and clear her name.

Malfoy tutted her. "Lesson one: speak when spoken to."

"Fine," she rolled her eyes.

"Fine..."

Hermione looked at him in a frustrated confusion. Surely he couldn't continuing forcing her to talk to him? And doing so like she's a child?

"What am I suppose to say?"

He licked his lips and flipped the page, eyes never leaving the paper. "Fine, sir. Fine, Your Majesty. Fine, Draco. Fine, husband."

"Fine, Malfoy."

He pursed his lips, "Fine."

Hermione took the time to gaze around the room. It was a real palace. There was plenty of room here to have a ball. Every other portrait in this room was magical. Hermione wondered if he hadn't made it to the rest of the palace yet.

One of the Muggle paintings caught her eye.

Realization set in.

"Malfoy," she tested.

He raised an eyebrow, obviously not happy with the title but curious for the conversation.

"You're the King of France."

"Yes, I am."

"This is your palace, then?"

He smirked. "It is now."

"Am I - are we in Versaille?"

Malfoy let out a gasp of a laugh as he gave her a slow applause.

"Could never get anything past you, could we Granger? Especially with the Muggle history, but I believe it's called Palace Malfoy now."

"What do the Muggles think?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, returning to his paper. "They haven't the faintest idea what's going on. Between wards and glamours, any of them that are curious think that the palace is going through heavy renovations."

"And how long will that excuse last?" she quizzed.

He shrugged, uncertainty clear on his face. "Long enough for them to learn of the Dark Lord and submit to his reign or be executed." His calmness unnerved her.

"They outnumber us," she countered.

"Which is why it's done in pieces."

"But guns-"

"But magic." The muggle technology was no match.

Hermione frowned down at her half eaten plate. She prayed that her parents were still safe. She hadn't been able to check on them for a year or so, but as far as she knew, the Dark Lord hadn't made it to Australia.

"I'm still not sure why I'm needed."

Malfoy ground his teeth as a silence fell upon them.

Hermione felt confident in the fact that she had stumped him, or at least made him hesitate with his retort.

"You're not," he said after a long sip of tea, "It's just a way to amuse myself while bothering Potter."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She was anything but a pawn in a schoolboys' game of chess.

"But Voldemort wants you to marry me?" she continued.

His smirked returned. "Oh, yes. He gave his blessing. That's how it's going to be, I suppose. If you're going to taint the bloodline, do it under the Dark Lord's approval." He laughed.

Hermione almost dropped her teacup. "No one said anything about the bloodline."

"He did. A year after our marriage. There needs to be an heir - especially for a Malfoy."

Hermione felt sick. The plate in front of her was suddenly inedible. However, the years of arguing and torment did not escape her.

"It would be a mudblood." The flash of emotion through his eyes, though unreadable, was not unnoticed.

"The Dark Lord is a half-blood, and he approves. His top general and the brightest witch of her age. Of course, he does. Now, Father isn't thrilled, but he's not thrilled about plenty. For starters, being a Lord rather than a King."

"I'd rather be publicly executed than forced to reproduce with you," she snapped.

He tossed the paper in a crumple on the floor.

"Well, I will be if we don't. I can only assume that you would be moved somewhere much less plush and treated much less pleasantly," he hissed.

Hermione paused. He would be killed at the Dark Lord's hand if she didn't comply to the rules. He was probably right, too. So far, the palace was heaps more pleasant than bouncing from base to base, safe house to safe house. Any other members of Voldemort's inner circle wouldn't hesitate to crucio her on site.

"And why should I care if your life's in my hands. You've taken plenty of lives from me."

Hermione tensed as his knuckles whitened around the handle of his cup.

"He's taken those lives from you, Granger. Not me," he seethed.

It was a lie. She had seen it in the papers. Hell, she had been there. She had seen it with her own eyes. He was a general. He was responsible.

Slamming her hands down on the table, she loudly slid her chair back.

"I'm finished." She stood and threw the napkin from her lap into the chair before storming towards the exit Zippy had lead her through.

"You're not excused," he called after her.

She paused and turned on her heels.

"I'm excused when I say I'm excused."

Malfoy slammed his fist. She cringed as a water glass toppled.

"I own you, Granger. You listen to me."

Hermione let out an exasperated laugh.

"Yet your life is in my hands? Funny."

"Sit down," he demanded.

"Fuck off, Malfoy. Come on, Zippy," she gestured at the creature.

The elf jumped. Zippy had been silently standing at the end of the room. The elf was visibly shaking, even from where Hermione stood. She knew that it was one threat away from a tsunami of tears.

"Yes, Miss." It scampered after her.

Malfoy stood. "She is not your bloody house elf. Zippy, stay." He pointed back to her previous spot.

The elf froze.

"Yes, Your Majesty," she whispered with a swift turn.

"I would love to walk myself around the Palace of Versaille. How many rooms is it? 700? One of them is bound to get me out of here."

They glared at each other from across the large dining hall. The tension only grew as Hermione grew frustrated at her lack of ability to harness her magic. Her fingers were shaking uncontrollably. Malfoy looked as stoic as ever, but if looks could kill, she would be long dead. Not without a fight, of course.

She felt a sudden calmness. It wasn't enough to override her anger, but enough to level her magic.

Hermione grabbed the charm that hung around her neck.

"The necklace. What does it do?"

He swiped his tongue across the smirk of his teeth, his grey eyes gleaming with amusement.

"It makes you mine, Granger."

She scoffed.

"I will never be yours."

Hermione flipped him off as she walked out of the room, unsure of whether it was too Muggle of a response. She hoped her attitude had been enough to portray her mood.

"Wear the dress for the interview," he called after her.

Hermione paused for a moment in the hall once out of his sight. 

"What're you standing there for? Don't let her get herself lost, or worse, be late," she heard him scold, presumably, Zippy.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Hermione smiled to herself.

Maybe she wasn't as powerless as she thought.


	5. Chapter 5

"Thank you, Zippy. It looks wonderful."

Hermione gave a tight smile to the elf grinning up at her. 

After the tour of the palace, Zippy forced Hermione to prepare for the interview.

The tour was rather anticlimactic for Hermione. The wards wouldn't allow her to get close to any doors that could be an obvious exit. There were even entire rooms she was barred from. Any hope for an easy escape was incredibly low.

At least she now knew where the kitchens were.

Though she would never admit it to him, she was impressed that Malfoy kept as much of the original decor as he did. The only additions were the magical portraits and the occasional color change. The blacks, silvers, and greens contrasted harshly with the main white walls, but made individual rooms feel much more comfortable.

Hermione sighed as she looked at herself in the mirror. Despite her protests, Zippy had convinced her to wear the emerald gown. Hermione agreed, only hoping that whatever privilege she could get would be worth it.

Her curls were tamed long down her back. The makeup had been slightly heavier. Hermione could only assume it was for the cameras. 

The only time she had been this put together was for the Yule ball. She felt very feminine. She hoped she looked as pretty as she thought she did just so, at the very least, Harry would know that she was holding it together.

There was a knock at the door.

"You might as well come in. You didn't knock last time," she called as she walked out of the bathroom.

Malfoy strode in wearing an all black suit. She had seen him in one before, sixth year, but that didn't mean he didn't look good in it.

He caught her eyes as he walked towards her.

She flickered her gaze to her feet.

"Granger, we're wanted downstairs in five minutes. I figured it'd be best to run through some quick expectations."

Hermione frowned. "I thought we already went over that."

"Yes, well..." Hermione flinched as grabbed her hand. Her eyes grew wide as she watched him slide a ring onto her finger.

It fit perfectly.

The emerald cut diamond in the center was massive, but not enough so to look like cheap costume jewelry. Small pearls and emeralds outlined the shape as smaller diamonds filled in the silver band that wrapped around her finger. It had to cost a fortune.

Jaw dropped, she blinked at him.

"We are engaged. As far as anyone is aware, we are happily in love. You will behave. You will act this out. I will take the lead on the questions and it should be smooth sailing."

Hermione ignored their closeness, too stunned by the jewelry on her hand.

The number of galleons this could sell for could get materials for the safe houses that would last for months. They could be clean. They could be full.

But she would need to get into contact with someone.

She finally glanced away from her hand and to Malfoy's face. He was looking at her quizzingly, as if interested in whether she actually liked it.

"It's beautiful," she admitted.

"Mother would've loved to hear that. She picked it out." Hermione watched as sadness flashed across his face. It disappeared with a grit of his teeth.

Hermione had seen that look before. She had seen it on Harry.

Was Malfoy occlumending?

She couldn't help but wonder what Narcissa would have done if she'd known that the family heirloom was going to be given to a mudblood.

Hermione had assumed long ago that Narcissa Malfoy had been executed by Voldemort. She understood why she had done what she did. Similarly to the lengths Hermione went to for her parents, Narcissa wanted to protect her son.

She was driven by love.

Voldemort hates love. It's what made Harry, Harry.

"You're still a tosser, Malfoy," she hissed, snapping out of her thoughts. She dropped her left hand to her side with a glare. "The least you could've done would've been to get on one knee."

He rolled his eyes.

"C'mon," he offered her his arm and she hesitantly looped it through. They left the room and turned in a direction she had yet to explore much. Going up a flight of stairs, he lead her into a parlor. 

"Smile," he reminded as he opened the door.

Hermione pasted the biggest one she could muster, but faltered at the sight of Rita Skeeter in the armchair opposite of the large lounge couch.

She wished she was stuck shrunken down. Hermione should've flushed her down the toilet.

Ever since Fourth Year, Hermione had gone out of her way to squish every beetle she saw. She'd always hoped she'd hit her mark. Obviously, she had failed.

Malfoy unraveled her arm from his and moved his hand to the small of her back, lightly pushing her forward. The intimacy was odd, though she wasn't sure if it was because it was from Malfoy or because she hadn't been touched like that in so long.

Rita stood to curtsey as the two entered the room. She looked up with a devilish grin.

"Hermione Granger, darling, long time, no see. It seems like you're up to your usual business, no? Seducing powerful men?" Hermione's smile stayed tight as she sat down, Malfoy sitting right next to her. 

Literally, right next to her.

Their thighs were pressed together. Hermione thought she may hyperventilate.

Malfoy placed his hand on her knee.

"Now Rita, this is your future Queen. We're expecting some respect if you plan on publishing now or ever again," he scolded in a teasing tone.

They all knew he wasn't teasing.

Rita nodded, "Yes, Your Majesty."

As Skeeter opened her book to prepare her questions, Malfoy pulled Hermione's left hand to sit on top of his.

Hermione's mouth went dry.

She understood that they needed to put on an act, but how far did it need to be taken. He wasn't expecting her to go out of her way to touch him, was he?

"Wow. Isn't that stunning? Hermione, how do you feel about it?" Rita asked, gesturing to the massive rock on her finger. The quick-quotes quill immediately began to scratch away. 

Hermione couldn't help but smile as she looked at it. She was never one to be vain, but it was certainly the most expensive gift she had ever received.

"It's gorgeous."

"It's an old Malfoy piece. I picked it out from the vaults. I thought it would suit her the most. Doesn't she just look gorgeous in green?"

Hermione turned to look at him with a slightly stunned expression. She forgot how close together they were sitting. His face was right above her own.

He was grinning at her. It actually reached his eyes. It was the first time Hermione had actually seen him smile, and not out of malice.

The camera snapped.

Hermione whipped her head back.

"The Gryffindor Princess in Slytherin green. Tell me, how did you manage to make that happen? She's been in hiding, hasn't she?"

Hermione felt hot. He couldn't talk about The Order. Please.

Malfoy's hand gave her knee a slight squeeze. She flickered her eyes over to him. He was still smiling. He looked relaxed.

"Hermione and I had always had a connection, even at school- especially at school. The tension that came with being the top two students in the class was entirely unmatched. Especially fourth year, I had a massive crush on her."

Hermione couldn't help but blush. She knew it was an act, but it was still nice to hear. She was never considered pretty for their year. Smart, yes, but most boys found her annoying. Even Ron.

Ron.

If only he could see her now. He'd be sick.

"I assume most boys in our class did," Malfoy continued, "I mean look at her. These curls," he paused and pushed one behind her ear. 

Her thoughts left again as she blushed even harder. She giggled. The camera snapped again.

"We snuck letters back and forth. It was nice to know that she had similar feelings. I was worried it was all over when she left during 6th year. Then I saw her at the Battle."

Malfoy gripped onto her tighter as his tone became more serious. Hermione followed his lead, giving off a somber expression.

"I sent my owl after her as they escaped, just to keep an eye on her. He came back to me one day, and I knew she was in trouble. I grabbed a broom and he lead me to her."

Hermione nodded as if remembering the time. The situation in which she was the damsel in distress and he was her knight in shining armor. Hermione knew that Rita would fabricate the story to make it more worthwhile, but honestly, only an idiot would believe this. There was no one from Hogwarts that would back up the story. It was garbage.

"She was beaten, bruised, and starved, but still as stunning as ever. I had let her have her fun, but it was time to come home. I needed to keep my love safe. Not only that, but my kingdom was in need of their Queen."

He laced their fingers together on his lap.

"She's been here recovering and is now as happy and healthy as ever." 

They looked at each other again. Hermione could tell that Malfoy was trying to tell her something, but she wasn't sure what. She was keeping most of her focus on behaving. She was struggling to stay relaxed... composed. They exchanged smiles with obviously different meanings.

"Ms. Granger, this seems like quite the secret for Harry Potter's best friend to keep, does it not? What's so appealing about His Majesty that made you turn your back on those who do not support the Dark Lord."

Hermione froze. She knew this was going to happen.

"Rita I told you-" Malfoy growled, standing.

Thank Merlin she strived for perfection. Of course, she practiced.

Hermione gripped his hand and tugged him back into her.

This had to work.

"Draco can be quite persuasive, can't he?" He gave her a concerned look, but Hermione just smiled before looking back at Skeeter.

"I think we always knew we'd be together in the end. Where else would I be able to find such an equal match for myself?" she teased with a laugh.

She glanced at the quill that was frantically scratching away. 

Rita's grin was fake. Her eyes - shocked. She had obviously hoped that the question would catch Hermione off guard. She wanted to find a crack.

Her reward better be fantastic.

"My fiance is so handsome and poised. He can not only keep up an intelligent conversation, but match my banter. Not only do I get to be a Malfoy, but the Queen of France? I'm so lucky my Draco came and rescued me."

The words felt incredibly forced, but with a fake loving bat of her eyelashes, she could see that Malfoy was satisfied with her work.

"Now, as for my rebellious friends. They know me. They know where I am and why I'm doing this." She spoke slow, annunciating every word to be perfectly copied by the quill.

"I love Draco Malfoy, and I'm so honored to be your future Queen."

"I believe that's enough for this spread, Ms.Skeeter?" Malfoy interjected. 

Hermione felt slightly feverish. Had he realized what she was trying to do? She thought it was vague enough to slip through, but she wasn't lying. Malfoy was very smart.

"Some photos would be nice. By the window perhaps? Or in the hall?"

"Fine." He stood, pulling her to her feet.

Malfoy lead her to the window. The open curtains showed glass doors to a small balcony overlooking the gardens. She could feel the wards as they walked closer.

The camera flashes began immediately.

With hands on her waist, Malfoy leaned down to her ear to whisper. 

"I'm very pleased with you. Make these convincing and we'll both be very happy."

Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder while the other cupped his face.

"Anything for you," she smiled.

They stayed like that for a moment, staring at one another as the camera clicked.

His silver eyes were much lighter than usual. He looked younger, happier.

She was sure that her entire face was red. She wasn't sure that her and Ron had even ever held each other this long.

It was almost like they were having a moment.

Almost.

Skeeter interrupted.

"Could we get a kiss?" she mused.

It took everything in her not to gag. Her fluster was growing. Her necklace burned for a moment. Her embarrassment was gone.

Malfoy smirked, moving a hand up to the back of her head while using the other to pull her waist closer.

Hermione wanted to panic as he leaned in, but the necklace left her poised to the cameras eye. Her hesitation was internal. 

She was about to kiss Draco Malfoy. If only Hannah Abbott could see her now.

She gasped as their lips touched.

It actually wasn't terrible. She sighed into it.

There was something tender about kissing. It was so vulnerable, so personal. She could almost look past the fact that it was Malfoy forcing her to do it. Malfoy keeping her calm with magic.

Almost.

His mouth was warm, and though she kept hers closed, she could feel his tongue drag across her lips. Did he want her to open? The last thing she was going to do was have a proper snog with Malfoy, especially on camera.

She gasped in surprise as he whipped her around into a dip, lips never leaving hers.

"Marvelous!" Rita chirped as the camera clicking came to a stop.

They pulled apart. 

He curiously stared into her eyes for a moment. He shook his head. 

Malfoy twirled her back up to a standing position. 

Hermione watched with wide eyes as Malfoy exchanged some final words with Rita. She could hardly hear their conversation, let alone process it, over the churning of her brain.

What was that? Draco Malfoy not only willingly kissed her, but did so so charmingly. Hermione wouldn't go as far as to say that she enjoyed it, but she definitely didn't not. What the hell?

A small hand wrapping around her fingers snapped back some of her attention.

"Miss is ready to return to her room?" Zippy asked.

Hermione nodded, still too dazed for words, and let herself be pulled out of the room.

Malfoy stopped them before the door, placing a hand on the small of her back.

"Good girl," he whispered into her ear, leaving a kiss on her temple before turning back to Skeeter.

"Your Highness," Rita curtsied after her.

Hermione gave a nod as she left into the hall.

She prayed that her and Malfoy would not have to cross that line again anything soon.

If that behavior was expected to continue, she could only assume that her idea of a privilege was entirely different than his.

She was unsure if she even wanted to find out.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione had puked up her entire breakfast as soon as she was back into the safety of her room.

What was she thinking? 

She felt nothing but disgust as the events of the interview sunk in. She shouldn't have let it go that far. She knew she needed to go along with the act, but was she willing to do it at the expense of her reputation? 

She could only hope that Skeeter would be stupid enough to print her quote and that Harry or any other member of high authority in The Order would pick up on it.

They'd have her location. Someone would come get her.

Hermione tore the dress off and laid on the cool tiles in front of the toilet as the bathroom spun.

She felt so dirty.

"Miss?" Zippy stood atop her, extending out a potion vile. 

Hermione could smell the dittany. She shook her head, rolling it away from her.

She didn't want to feel better. She deserved the punishment.

Over the past few years, Hermione missed her parents less and less. She had grown numb to missing them, accepting that they did not miss her. They had no idea she existed. It was easier for Hermione to focus on the task at hand and worry about the people that were actually with her- the people that were dying. However, right now was the rare occasion where she longed to be in her mothers arms and hear her father's calming words.

The humiliation of them seeing her engagement would at least be avoided. She had told them all about Malfoy and the slurs he used during their school years. His feud with the trio was one of her main talking points, not wanting to worry her parents with their battling for the entirety of the Wizarding World.

Typically, Hermione would turn to Molly for comfort, but she knew that the future of that was nonexistent. The whole situation betrayed Ron, and it would be too long before Hermione could explain the ruse to her.

Ron.

Hermione sat up and continued to empty her stomach. She immediately began sobbing into the toilet.

If he knew, he wouldn't be able to look at her. He wouldn't be able to speak to her. She would never be able to feel his touch again.

She loved Ron.

She knew he loved her too.

And now she had kissed the bane of his existence.

She was a slut.

He would understand if he knew the circumstances. He would want Hermione to be safe. He would want her alive.

That's what all this was.

Survival.

Her only hope was that Harry would support her. She needed him to. He had to.

Mudblood. She was a mudblood. Why would he kiss a mudblood?

The scenes continued to run through her mind as the tears streamed down her face. She continued to choke nothing into the toilet. It felt like hours had passed.

"Miss? May we put you in bed?" Zippy asked eventually.

Hermione forgot that the elf had been watching the episode. She'd be embarrassed if it wasn't for the fact that the article would probably be the most mortifying part of her life.

"N-no," Hermione choked before gagging. There was nothing for her to heave out, but that didn't mean her stomach stopped lurching.

After a few moments of silence, the bathroom door clicked. Hermione crawled to peak around the doorframe. Zippy had left her alone. Bracing the wall, she pushed herself to her feet.

Her head rushed. She staggered, leaning for support. Her eyes burned. Her throat burned.

Out.

She needed to get out.

Hermione dragged herself to the window behind the tub.

It was dusk. The sky was bright orange as it peaked over the distant wall. She could see the tops of trees over the wall in the distance.

Outside.

Hermione screamed as she slammed her firsts against the window, only to grow more frustrated as her hands didn't actually meet the glass. The wards met her as an invisible wall about an inch in front of the actual barrier. They prevented her from being close to breaking out, of course, but she was desperate.

She could hardly see out the window as the frustrated tears continued to flow. Her chest tightened as she struggled to breath.

Malfoy.

Marriage.

Ron.

Harry.

Voldemort.

War.

Death.

A wave of calmness rushed from her chest. 

The necklace. The fucking necklace.

She fought to tear it off her neck, but it was pointless. Like a ward, the magic was weaved through to make it impossible for Hermione to take it off.

The moment of clarity allowed for Hermione to feel the pounding in her hands. They would bruise.

Conscious of her tantrum, she continued to scream and hit against the wall. She knew it was pointless, that she would never get out like this, but she could hope. She could try.

The bathroom door flew open.

"Granger."

Hermione wailed, beating against the window harder. She felt the necklace surge again, forcing her to take in a long gasp of a breath.

She slammed her head against the wall.

"Stop it!" she screeched. "Stop it, Malfoy!"

"Granger, relax." He took a hesitant step towards her.

Hermione flung herself from the window to the wall, trying to put more distance between them.

"Stay away from me!" She slid down the wall as her sobs continued.

Malfoy was in her bathroom. 

The wave hit her again.

She sighed, shook her head, and pressed her palms against her eyes.

"I told you to stop! Fucking stop! Get it off!" She hiccuped before breaking into another fit of sobs, tugging hard at the necklace.

"Hey, hey. It's ok," he whispered. He had a hand held out in caution as he slowly stepped closer. As he neared her, he lowered himself to his knees. "I'll stop."

He reached out towards her.

Her eyes snapped up immediately. "Don't touch me!" she wailed. "Please don't touch me!"

He held up both his hands. Hermione barely registered his panic.

Good.

He should be scared.

"I won't touch you. Granger, what's wrong?" He spoke slowly, voice cold but cautious.

"Out! I want out!" She slapped her hands against the ground.

"I can take you outside, Granger, but you need to calm down."

"Out! Out of here! I want to go home!"

She pulled her knees to her chest, forcing her head to hide her face in them. The embarrassment of the situation was adding to the total for the day. She couldn't pull herself together.

"You're staying here," he instructed firmly.

She slammed her head back into the wall. "No!"

"Calm down!" She couldn't. It felt like someone had their hands around her throat. It felt like someone was sitting on her chest.

She sat up suddenly, reaching for the lip of the tub. She threw her mouth over and continued to spit up bile. The sobs filled the room.

Panicking.

She was panicking.

She struggled to catch her breath. It was like everything had finally caught up to her. The war had dragged on and on, and Hermione had stayed strong. She had held herself as the support system for the others- mainly Harry. There wasn't time to cry when she was making sure they were constantly ready to take on Voldemort again.

Now, she was stuck. There was nothing she could do but think about everything, and it was all so terrible. It was flowing out of her.

A hand gripped her shoulder. Her instincts kicked in. With her left hand, she gripped and twisted while she swung her fist through to her target.

He caught it before she hit his face.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked again. Her body began to shake as she realized how much bigger he was than her. "I hate you!"

She went with her left hand to slap him, only to have it caught with his other hand.

His eyes bore into hers. She watched his jaw clench. Occlumency.

He let go of them both and moved to sit next to her.

She turned to crawl away from, but he grabbed her at her waist, pulling her into his lap as she screamed.

"No!... Touching!..." she sobbed, pounding fists into his chest, desperately trying to get away. Why did they keep touching?

He pulled her into his chest, forcing her arms around him. She continued to wield slaps into his back.

"Granger, you need to calm down. Can you do that for me?" he murmured into her ear.

"No! Fuck you!" She bawled, hits continuing.

"Granger, please."

"Let go!"

"No."

"No!"

"Hermione."

She paused at the use of her first name.

Never.

He had never used it.

"We're going to make this work- for both of us- but I need you to use words."

She collapsed against him as she realized fighting was useless, but the sobs continued into his chest. His tension lessened beneath her as they sat in the stillness. The hands pressed into her back were rubbing lightly. Hermione found herself calm as she counted the movements.

One.... Two.... Three....

When her tears became silent, he spoke.

"You were fantastic earlier, and I'm sorry that I pushed you that far, but you have to understand that we needed to do it."

"I need..." Hermione whispered, fingers drawing shapes on the floor as her arms hung dumbly at her sides.

He pushed her lightly to sit up, taking in her face to interpret the coherent phrase.

"What do you need?" he urged.

"I need..." she whispered again, eyes still on her right hand tracing the tiles.

"I will get you whatever you need." 

Hermione almost smirked. If she didn't know better, he sounded desperate.

She looked at him.

"I need to leave."

He didn't miss a beat.

"No. You're staying here. You have to."

"I need Harry," she pleaded, knowing that her tears were once again threatening to spill over.

His grey eyes bore into hers.

Hermione knew she was too distracted by herself to take advantage of the moment - to search for any sign of her peer, her classmate, for any emotion. She wasn't sure what she would be looking for anyways, but anything that could be used to her advantage as a weakness could be useful.

He couldn't be as cold as his eyes. He was human. She had witnessed his cowardice many times. She knew that he couldn't follow through with killing Dumbledore.

How could he keep his classmate as his prisoner?

How could he betray Hogwarts, their home?

His pupils were slightly fogging.

He was occulmencing again. Why?

"No. It's not up for discussion."

She couldn't help it.

"No, no, no."

The sobs hiccuped out, and as she moved to halfheartedly hit his chest, he grabbed her wrists with one hand and used the other to pull her back into him.

"I'm sorry, but this is how it has to be."

They sat there, her crying, him sitting, trying, she assumed, to stop her from hurting him or herself, for a long time. She tried to stop, but she was unable to reseal the deep wound in her heart that the war had created.

Eventually, her sobs stopped. 

Numb. 

She felt numb.

"Granger? Are you alright?" he whispered. He had loosened his grip on her a while ago, but kept his arms around her, occasionally rubbing her back or his fingers through her hair.

Hermione guessed it was comforting, but she didn't really think about it. Thinking was what was making everything so unbearable. If she just closed her eyes and felt things, then they were numbly manageable.

Numb.

She made no movement to respond.

"Are you with me?"

Nothing.

He sighed.

She felt him moving under her. The fuzziness of the bathrobe felt heavy against her bare shoulders and back.

Naked.

She was sitting here practically naked in front of him.

Merlin, maybe she really was a slut.

His arms tightened around her and he grunted as he stood up. Hermione's head spun despite her eyes remaining closed.

She stifled her groan.

Oh God, he was carrying her. The day couldn't be worse.

She almost sighed as she was laid on the mattress, needing the plushness of the mattress to swallow her and take her away. Anywhere- she wanted to be anywhere but here.

She could tell she was facing away from him, towards the middle of the bed. She was grateful he couldn't see her face. Nothing but weakness had been shown today. He didn't need to see any more.

The comforter was pulled up to her chin. Did he tuck her into bed? Malfoy?

There was a moment of silence before his footsteps could be heard retreating to the back of the room. It was quiet again, as if he paused.

What was he doing? Couldn't he leave her alone?

The door finally opened and shut, and Hermione gripped the comforter under her chin. 

Death.

War.

Voldemort.

Harry.

Ron.

Marriage.

Malfoy.

She couldn't help the tears silently spilling once again, but let them fall until the darkness finally overtook her.

She was a mess, and it was all Draco Malfoy's fault.


End file.
